Chapter Two

 

“Busy night?”

Hugo Wayne hefted his bag over his shoulder and offered his sister a tired smile. “I should have been out of here half an hour ago, but not because it was any busier than usual. I don’t know how Jasmine survives this and raises three kids on her own. One week on the night shift and I’ve aged ten years.”

“You are incredibly spoiled, I agree, but nip that aging thing in the bud right now. If you age ten years I’ll have to, and I know you wouldn’t do that to your favorite sister. Especially since I’ve given you three days off to readjust before you go back to mornings. Happy early birthday and you’re welcome.”

He chuckled. Of his six siblings, Bronte was the oldest and, yes, probably the one he was closest to. At this moment, he was also grateful she was his Charge Nurse, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken three days off in a row. He needed every one of them. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She was leaning in the doorway of the locker room and he noticed she was wearing the plum-colored scrubs he and his brothers had gotten her for her birthday last month. They were covered with dinosaurs wearing tutus and big smiles.

Bronte wasn’t smiling. She was watching him with a strange expression on her face. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“What’s that look for, Bronte-saurus?”

“This look?” She pointed to her face. “This look means I’m wondering if you should be sitting down before I tell you about the patient currently recovering in the emergency room.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about? And why were you down there?”

“I was called.”

That definitely sounded ominous. “Why would I have to sit down, Bronte?”

“Because the last time you saw him you were a mess for months. And despite the dirt he’s covered in and the way his arm was dangling when he first showed up, he looks even better than he did back then.” She gestured to her short, stylish bob. “All long, blond hair and brooding scowls. The new look is really working for him. You know how much I like that Viking show.”

Hugo dropped his bag. Younger. “Solomon Finn is in the ER? Is he hurt?” Oh God. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.” She walked over to him and took his hands in hers. “First of all, he’s fine.”

Her calm expression took the edge off of his panic, but it was still there. “If he’s so fine, why is he at the hospital? You said he was dirty and his arm was dangling. Was he in an accident? A fight? He used to jog. Was it a heart attack? What?”

“Yeah, you barely know him and don’t think about him at all, isn’t that what you told me? It’s a sin to lie to family, Hugo Wayne.”

“This is serious, Bronte,” he warned. “Tell me what happened.”

She nodded. “Right forearm fracture, a few minor contusions on his hip and thigh, but no head trauma or any other injuries. He said he fell in the shower, but his lack of eye contact tells me there’s probably a more entertaining version of the story and he’s embarrassed to share it because I’m your sister.”

“You talked to him?”

Bronte’s look told him not to ask stupid questions.

Falling in the shower? Younger? An insidious voice in his head couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been with someone when it happened. Hugo had done a few rotations in the emergency room, so he’d seen sex-related injuries before, and Bronte did say he seemed embarrassed. “Who brought him in?”

Her expressive eyes flashed with sudden fire. “Do not get me started on that subject or I’ll never stop. And back me up if he reports me for trying to punch him.”

“Punch who? For what?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you for what. When I got down there, he was one thick-accented darlin’ away from getting Monica into the back office for a quickie. Monica, the woman who resisted Doctor Sex-on-a-Stick’s daily advances for seven months. And here comes your guy’s twenty-something cousin, as if it’s a single’s bar instead of a hospital. When I told him to tone it down, he winked and said he’d just been biding his time until I arrived. Then he tried to kiss me.” She shook her head, clearly flustered. “What woman in her right mind wouldn’t be tempted to punch that?”

Hugo was trying to keep up with her, but anxiety and exhaustion were muddling his thoughts. “He’s not my guy, and his cousins are Seamus, Stephen and Owen. All of them happily married.”

“Well, he said they were cousins and he definitely sounded Irish.” She bent down to pick up his bag. “But there are so many blue-eyed pretty boys in that family, it’s hard to keep track of them all.”

Pretty boy.

He sounded Irish.

Right. Not a lover then. “That has to be William or Matthew. Thor told us about the cousins from Ireland, remember? Three of them followed Seamus back to the states and live in his old house now.”

Bronte raised one eyebrow as she handed him his things. “We have a few full houses of our own, so I don’t have time for brand new branches on another tree. You and Thoreau are the ones with the Finn fixation, not me.”

“Quit picking,” he said absently, slipping an arm over her shoulder as he walked her out of the room and toward the elevators. “I’m too tired to tease back.”

“You need a cup of coffee?”

“What I really need is to get home and get some sleep.”

“You’re leaving?”

Hugo shrugged, feigning indifference. “He’s fine, right? And he already has family here so he’s not alone.” It might be better for both of them if he stayed away.

“Really, Hugo? That’s what you’re telling yourself?”

“Yeah?” He tried to smile, but winced at her knowing expression. “He’s here because he’s injured, Bronte. Not to see me. I’m sure I’m the last person he wants showing up right now when he’s already in pain.”

And I don’t know if I’m strong enough yet to see him hurting and walk away.

She looked up at him, placing her hand on his chest. “He asked if I was on duty, Hugo. And then he asked about you.”

“Why?”

She made a small sound of frustration. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. You’ve never told me what happened between you two. Not really. I’ve gotten a kiss, a mistake, a miscommunication. That’s it. Meanwhile you’ve only gone out on three dates in the last two years, you volunteer for more shifts than a handsome, single black man should, and the old chief of police is asking about your birthday plans and relationship status with the kind of expression I’ve only seen our nephews make when they don’t get dessert.”

He tried to speak but she wasn’t done. “And I don’t blame you for preferring nursing to police work, but it was a swift change and he’s connected to that too. So what am I supposed to think? What conclusions would you draw with that damning mountain of evidence?”

She would have made a great detective. “What did you tell him?”

Her sigh was a paragraph long. “I told him that you were happily married to a Brazilian soccer player with thighs like a pair of Sequoias and a fetish for balls.”

Hugo burst out laughing as the elevator doors opened, revealing a surgeon and two nurses from the day shift. He waved her in. “You didn’t.”

“Did so.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Fine, I said he should ask you.” Bronte nudged her hip against his and whispered, “There is one other thing.”

“Great,” he whispered back. “Should I sit down again?”

“Only if you have a problem with shirtless Irish boys.”

Hugo swallowed, then tried to laugh it off. “I’d be a shitty nurse if I couldn’t handle being around half naked men. That daily flash of ass is the price of trendy hospital gowns. Shirtless should be a breeze.”

One of the nurses behind him snorted.

“Well this half naked man came in with an interesting tattoo on his shirtless chest.”

“He doesn’t have any—” Realizing he’d given too much away, Hugo glared down at her. “Tattoos don’t bother me either.”

The elevator doors opened and Bronte walked backwards down the hall in front of him. “Spira, spera.”

Hugo almost tripped over his own feet. “The tattoo? You just want to me to see him before I go home.”

“It surprised me too, but it’s right there on his skin for anyone to see. That’s why I caught you before you could leave. Most men don’t go around permanently marking themselves over something that was only a miscommunication or a mistake. Not unless they’re drunks or crazy. Is he one of those? Is that why you won’t give me details?”

“He’s not a drunk.” But the jury was still out on crazy.

He hadn’t spoken to Solomon in months, and they hadn’t been together in over a year. Technically, they never really were. Not the way he’d wanted them to be.

Remember all those mixed messages. How you felt at the end.

It was impossible to forget. It was the only thing that kept him from giving in when his body grew weak from wanting the loyal, magnetic, emotionally stunted man.

Spira, spera.

Loosely, the words meant, “While I breathe, I hope.”

It was from one of his favorite books by Victor Hugo, the author his father had named him after. But Chief Finn hadn’t been familiar with The Hunchback of Notre-Dame when they’d first started spending time together.

What clue was he supposed to get from that? That Solomon had read his namesake’s full works since then and he just happened to like those words and the meaning behind it enough to get it tattooed on his skin? Had Hugo mentioned it once in passing?

He must have, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter.

Solomon had made big moves before. Thoreau had been one of the last. Hugo was grateful his younger brother had found his calling, was close to getting his degree and was already a partner in a business he loved. It was Thor’s talent that made him successful, but Hugo understood it wouldn’t have happened the way it had without Solomon’s recommendation to his cousin, Seamus.

When he’d tried to thank him, he’d been offered his job back. Again. Solomon couldn’t help it, he knew, and he hadn’t understood why things couldn’t be put back to the way they’d been before.  He’d wanted to keep working together, seeing each other every day and having the occasional clandestine meeting when they could no longer resist each other.

To Hugo it sounded like torture.

He knew his worth. But he’d wanted Solomon so much it took him a while to see that he was accepting less than what he needed, with no guarantee that things would ever change and every reason to believe they wouldn’t.

In more ways and for more reasons than one, leaving was the right decision. He loved what he did now. It felt right. His only regret had just shown up with a broken arm, charming his sister and apparently sporting more hair and a new tattoo.

Spira, spera. While I breathe…

Bronte pointed to a closed curtain in warning before sliding it back to reveal the man himself. Solomon was sitting on the narrow hospital bed, bare-chested and frowning in confusion at the cast that stopped just below his elbow.

His sister was right. That Viking look worked on him.

You were right too. You should have gone home.

Jesus, he was fine. Dark blond hair fell in messy waves to his shoulders, the shadow of stubble on his jaw giving him a dangerous air. Nothing at all like the uptight, by the book fashion he’d been sporting for as long as Hugo had known him.

He could never claim to be a pretty boy like his three youngest brothers. No quarterback dreamboat like his cousin, Owen, and not stylishly suave like Stephen the statesman. He was a Finn, there was no mistaking that, but no one would ever call Solomon beautiful.

He was all man. Words like hard, lanky, rugged and chiseled fit him to perfection. In a uniform, he could intimidate and inspire. Shirtless, he could steal a man’s breath. There was nothing soft about him.

Except for that hair. Hugo’s fingers twitched, tempted to see if it was as silky as it looked. He’d always wondered what Solomon would look like if he’d let that peach fuzz grow. Now he knew.

Ten kinds of trouble.

He forced his attention down to his chest, confirming what his sister had told him with his own eyes. It was really there, right over his heart. And it wasn’t new. When had he had it done?

Why?

You know why.

When Solomon finally became aware of their presence and lifted his head, their eyes met. It was like no time had passed. Hugo felt the old connection sizzle back to life and jolt his heart into beating faster, the way it always had.

And that wasn’t the only physical reaction.

Shit.

“You fell?”

It was the best he could do on no sleep while fighting to hide his sudden arousal.

“You’re here,” Solomon responded, his frown disappearing. “Yes, I fell. It happens when you turn forty. You have two years left to enjoy being vertical. Cherish them.”

Bronte let out a startled laugh, reminding Hugo that she was still in the room.

“You’re not wrong about that.” She smiled at Solomon, idly picking up his chart for a quick scan. “I hit my fourth decade last year and started bumping into furniture like I’d suddenly forgotten how to walk. Oh and my knees started predicting the weather. Has that happened to you yet?”

Solomon’s lips twitched with barely suppressed humor. “Among other things.”

Hugo shook his head, feeling out of sorts and a little envious of their easy conversation. “Yeah, you both look ready for the nursing home to me. Let me get you a complimentary walker on your way out.”

“I couldn’t use it.” Younger made a face as he lifted his cast again. “Doesn’t look like I’ll be doing much of anything until this comes off.”

“Four to six weeks,” Bronte informed him apologetically. “The good news is the break wasn’t that severe, there are still things you can do and you’ve got a big family to spoil you and run all your errands.”

Solomon chuckled. “I don’t know if spoil is the right word. Other than Seamus, none of us are that warm and fuzzy.”

Bronte’s nod was distracted as she glanced over Hugo’s shoulder. “Speaking of cousins, where did yours run off to?”

He licked his lips before answering and Hugo swallowed a whimper, making an effort to control his body’s instinctual response to Solomon.

You’re still in your nursing scrubs. Do you really think those sorry excuse for pajama bottoms will do anything to hide it if he happens to look down?

Solomon was apologizing. “I’m sorry about him. You have no idea how sorry. He stopped by this morning and he was downstairs when it happened, so he was the one that got to drive me here. I wouldn’t blame you if you felt like pressing charges. He can be a little shit.”

Little shit? “What was he doing there so early? At your place, I mean.”

Those blue eyes were staring into his. Searching. “He never got around to telling me, but he probably wanted me to fix a ticket or hide a body. Who knows? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s asked for something like that. He keeps forgetting I’m not the police chief anymore.”

“We all try to, hon.” Bronte murmured kindly.

Even if he were, Solomon would never do that kind of favor. He was a stickler for the rules.

He nodded toward Bronte. “I said he owed you an apology, and he agreed, but he’s gone now. I heard him tell one of the nurses I was hungry, and he was driving to the diner to buy me breakfast. My favorite, he said. Eggs Benedict.”

“You don’t like Eggs Benedict.”

Solomon snorted at Hugo. “See? The only eggs I don’t like are named Benedict. You know that and I know that, but I have a feeling the man with my keys is unaware.”

He was taking it well. A distant cousin dropped him off at the ER and took his vehicle without permission, and he seemed fine. That wasn’t like him either.

It obviously wasn’t like Bronte.

“Did that punk ass leprechaun steal your car?” She covered her mouth as Hugo and Younger started to laugh. “I shouldn’t have said that out loud. That was unprofessional and I apologize.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve called him worse in my head,” Younger admitted with an open, easy grin. “And we’ll say the leprechaun borrowed my car, since he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not stupid. He didn’t leave until he realized I knew people here, and he probably forgot I don’t have my phone. Not that I’m saying he’s a saint or anything, because he’s not. He likes to ride the line, fighting and hanging out in the seedier parts of town. Seamus says he’s just acting out around me because I’m an authority figure. That William’s upset because he has to go back to Ireland soon and the girl he’d flown over to be with was already married with a baby on the way. Of course, she didn’t tell him that because for her it was just a vacation fling and some dirty texts with a bad boy she never thought she’d see again. Anyway, I don’t think he has much to go back to, and with his brother and sister in college, he’ll be leaving on his own. Kind of sad, when you think about it.”

Solomon’s eyes widened and he glanced over at Hugo. “I don’t know why I’m talking so much. Do I usually talk this much?”

“No,” Hugo said once he’d picked his jaw off the floor. “No, you never talk this much.”

“Looks like your happy pill finally kicked in.” Bronte walked over to the bed, studying his pupils while taking his wrist in her hand to check his pulse. “Some people react differently to certain pain meds than others. You don’t have any allergies you didn’t tell us about, do you?”

“I don’t think so. And you’re right because I’m in a better mood than I should be. Very relaxed. Does your shirt have dinosaurs in skirts or is that another side effect?”

Solomon spoke like a man who’d just become incredibly aware of his teeth.

He was high.

High and gorgeous and approachable and…

Fuck.

“Tutus,” Bronte corrected as if the question were perfectly normal. “It’s not a hallucination. My brothers have a childlike sense of humor and very few real pleasures in life, so I indulge them. Every year they get me something with dinosaurs, to commemorate the time they kicked an older boy’s butt in the schoolyard for calling me Bronte-saurus.”

“They commemorate it with dinosaurs?”

“You sound confused because you don’t have sisters. This is one of those, I can call you that but they can’t situations. It’s a term of endearment now, and as long as they use it sparingly, I allow them to live.”

Understanding lit Solomon’s eyes. “Like my cousin, Jen. Everyone called her Little Finn, because she was the baby. She didn’t appreciate it at all, but now it’s fine. Mostly because of Trick.”

“Trick. Is that her boyfriend?”

Hugo flinched when Solomon didn’t hesitate to answer. “More than that. He’s the father of her baby. Well, one of them.”

“One of the babies?”

“One of the fathers.”

Bronte turned to Hugo, her eyes nearly popping out of her head in surprise. He knew that look. She was going to demand details as soon as they were alone. He forgot sometimes that not everyone knew every detail about the sexual and romantic exploits of the Finn family.

“Sure. It sounds like Jen and I have loads in common.”

Solomon’s grin grew. “You’re very nice.”

Bronte blinked at that. “I am not. You’re catching me on an off day, blue eyes, so don’t go spreading that theory around.”

She likes him.

Hugo’s defenses were crumbling fast. He needed to get away from this vulnerable, open version of Solomon before he lost his resolve. “I should call someone. If William doesn’t come back, he’ll need a ride and someone to watch him for a few hours. I’ll get one of his brothers on the phone.”

“You’re off duty, Hugo. How about you stay and keep an eye on him while I handle that.” It wasn’t a request.

She touched Solomon on his shoulder to get his attention. “Anyone in particular you want us to call? Someone who can hang out at your place for a while?”

Younger licked his lips again. “Seamus, maybe? He’d probably take me to his place since mine might be underwater by now and he has the kids. My mouth is dry.”

“Hugo, get him some water while I call Seamus.”

“Let me do it. You don’t have his number.”

Bronte raised her eyebrow at his naiveté. “He’s Thoreau’s business partner. The entire family has his number in case of emergency. It’s on the Google doc, along with the rest of the Not-Waynes.”

Solomon chuckled as she breezed out before he could say another word and slid the curtain closed behind her.

“The Not-Waynes?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Too late.”

Hugo moved to the side table and poured water into a paper cup, handing it to Solomon with a sigh. “Drink and I’ll tell you.”

Those eyes were a problem. He remembered being unable to look away the first time he’d seen them, thinking they reminded him of the old crayons he’d loved to color with as a child. There was one shade of blue he’d used until it wore down to a nub he could barely grasp in his fingers. Cerulean? Blue III? He couldn’t remember the name of the brilliant shade, but it was the exact color of Solomon Finn’s eyes.

He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to them. Blue eyes were common enough, especially in Solomon’s family. But none of them had that exact color and shape. And what was behind them—the good and the bad—that was all uniquely Younger, too.

Planning on writing a poem about his damn eyes now, you weak-willed idiot?

“Not-Waynes?”

He was almost thankful for the excuse to stop staring. “Right. The Not-Waynes is a list of people we’re in close contact with who aren’t members of our family. It’s a habit my mother started for slumber parties and summer camps, but she’s kept it updated. Now she’s including boyfriends and business partners into the mix. Everyone gets a copy when a new number is added.”

Solomon’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “That’s thorough. She sounds nice.”

Hugo laughed under his breath. “She sounds like a control freak, but she’s not. She’s one of the sweetest women you could know. She says the list helps her stay that way, since she doesn’t enjoy worrying, and with all seven of us roaming around she’d do nothing but if she didn’t have a system. That’s part of her system.”

“It’s smart. I can think of a dozen cases off the top of my head where a list like that would have come in handy.” He nodded, staring at Hugo intently enough to make him uncomfortable. “My shower attacked me. I think it’s connected to the possessed dishwasher but there’s no way to know until I call the plumber. That’s why I’m here.”

“I heard about the shower. The demon dishwasher is new.” He saw some grit in his hair and the dried dirt on his face. “What did you do to make them attack?”

“I was thinking about you.”

Hugo stepped back automatically. “Don’t say that.”

From his open, confused expression, it was obvious that Solomon wasn’t in seduction mode. And yes, he was really feeling that pain medication. Hugo reminded himself to find out what it was and pin a note to his chart if Bronte hadn’t done it already.

“I was thinking about you,” he insisted, looking down at his cast again. “This is bad. Rory broke his arm falling from a tree on a dare. James played his Homecoming game with a hairline fracture.”

Bemused, Hugo handed him another glass of water. “Are we planning on listing off all your family’s injuries now?”

“I fell in the shower, Hugo.” He glared in response. “It’s humiliating. I was naked and I’d just been remembering… You told me not to say it. But now I have my first and hopefully last broken anything and that’s what I’ll have to tell people. My war story.”

This Solomon Finn was irresistible and that wasn’t a good thing. Hugo glanced at the curtain, praying for his sister to speed things along. “You could remind them about that time you were winged by a bullet in the line of duty, instead. That might distract them. Or even better, keep the whole shower incident to yourself. The hospital won’t tell anyone, and you and I both know you can keep a secret.”

When he didn’t respond, Hugo looked back and froze at the pain he saw there.

Way to kick him when he’s down, Nurse Asshole.

“Younger, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

“No it didn’t.” He stood until he was looking down at Hugo. “And you’re right. Finns are all good at keeping secrets, but I’m the best. At least, I’m the first. Rory and James are tied for second. Did you hear about Rory? I didn’t know until Elder was dying.”

Hugo reached out to steady him when he swayed. “That he’s moved into a house with two men? I heard about that.”

“Not that.” Solomon shook his head and leaned closer, taking a deep, audible breath. “Why do you always smell like apples? I’ve wondered about it for years.”

Lord, please give me strength. “Austen sells her own line of skincare products at an uptown salon.” Why did he sound so out of breath? “She uses her siblings as guinea pigs on a regular basis. This soap didn’t dry out my skin and I liked it, so I buy it in bulk.”

“Your sister?”

“Austen? Yes, she’s my sister.”

“You never talked about your family.”

He didn’t know how that was possible. He always talked about his family. Especially Austen, since he’d bragged about her products for men to half the station when he worked there. Most of them asked for a copy of her catalogue before he left.

But back then, whenever Solomon was in the room, everything else had disappeared for him. All he could think about was what he wanted to do to him the next time they were alone. His family was the last thing on his mind.

“You should sit down, Younger.”

He nodded, burrowing his nose into Hugo’s neck for one lust-inducing moment before lowering himself back to the hospital bed. “Sorry. I want to kiss you. I keep forgetting you don’t want that anymore.”

God, he wished he didn’t.

Hugo ran a hand over his face, wondering if the temperature in the hospital had shot up by ten degrees in the last minute. “It’s the medicine, Younger. This happens sometimes when a patient takes something they’re not used to. It’s totally normal, but I think I should go check on Bronte and see what’s taking her so long.”

“Don’t go.” The handsome man pushed his hair back off his forehead in frustration. This time with his good hand. “It’s not the medicine. And that’s not what I’m sorry for.”

“Oh.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me? You never gave me a chance to explain.”

“I can’t do this now.” Hugo could hear the plea in his voice, and he hated himself for it. “I know you’re in pain, but I just got off a week of all-nighters and now you show up drugged and injured in the emergency room and I…”

I want to take you home. I want to take care of you. I want to forgive you and fuck you until neither one of us can move for a week.

The sober expression reminded Hugo of the uptight, public persona he’d used as chief. “You’re right. Now isn’t the time. Go home, Wayne. Get some sleep.”

Hugo took a step away from the bed, telling himself he was relieved. But the way he’d said it had gotten under his skin. “Was that an order? You’re in no shape to be telling anyone what to do, and we both know I don’t work under you anymore.”

What was he doing?

Don’t argue. Just leave.

Solomon shook his head wearily. “Hugo, if I thought I could get away with it, the last thing I’d do is order you to go away. And I think what we both know is that I’d be the one under you.”

Damn. Solomon under him. The ideas those words were giving him…

“Hell, I wouldn’t have been in the shower alone in the first place, working out my frustration with my ha—”

“Your cousin is on his way.” Bronte ripped the curtain open, cutting him off mid-sentence. Her short-legged stride brought her to Hugo so quickly he almost flinched in surprise. “One of the good ones, although I should tell you he laughed for at least two minutes when I told him about the one who stole your car. And I talked to the doctor about your reaction. He says it’s not that unusual, and after this first dose, they shouldn’t make you too loopy if you need them again while you’re recovering.”

That was probably a good thing. Too much honesty from Solomon would destroy all of his defenses in under an hour.

“You go on, Hugo.” Bronte was suddenly in front of him, pushing his bag against his chest and basically marched him out of the room. “Get some rest so you won’t be a zombie for your birthday dinner.”

He was hesitating again. “You’re on duty upstairs. I could hang around until Seamus—”

“Go home now. I’ll stay with him.” He knew that tone. It meant he wasn’t going to win this argument.

“Okay, Bronte, I’m going.” He met Solomon’s heated gaze and frowned. “If you need anything…”

He’d what? Come running? Hadn’t he been the one to cut the cord between them for a hundred valid reasons he couldn’t remember right now?

“Thanks,” Solomon said, cutting through the awkward silence. “And happy birthday, Hugo.”

He nodded mutely, turning and making his way to his car without seeing anything but his favorite shade of blue and an emotion in Solomon’s eyes that he’d wanted to see for years.

Something that couldn’t be there. Not after all this time.